


Taking a break

by themuller



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: 00Q - Freeform, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 05:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7788925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themuller/pseuds/themuller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has to take a break.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking a break

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BoredPsychopath_JC](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoredPsychopath_JC/gifts).



> One more plot bunny from my Portugal vacation. If you ever have the chance, take a break at the Bussaco Palace hotel. It is incredible. Pictures taken by me.
> 
> Written for Boredpsychopath_jc, who probably could need a break from RL.

There had been warning signs. Q knew, he had been pushing himself to the limit over the past weeks, even months. Bond’s latest mission had gone awry, other agents had been called in, Q-branch had worked double-shifts to uncover the data leak in one of the mainframes of their allies in South East Asia. Q had cursed like a drunken sailor when R had found the perpetrator eventually. A twelve year old girl who had been able to hack her way into the computer using an Internet connection in a coffee shop, opening a freeway for the criminal network, Bond was chasing down. At the same time, several other international incidents had demanded Q’s attention, diverting assets, manipulating elections, and monitoring and if needed blacking out news sites. Q-branch had finally been put back on track during all of this, shedding the last remnants of C’s reign. And Q was exhausted, living on tea, sugar and adrenalin. Tanner and Moneypenny had been harassing him to take a break, but he couldn’t leave in the middle of this mess. Not as long as Bond was out there, listening intently to Q giving directions, relaying intel, arguing about possible exit strategies - Bond’s ‘blow up everything and leave’ against Q’s ‘get the asset, sneak away and return the equipment in one piece’. Q being quiet, when Bond’s breathing became laboured because he once again had to run for this life; Q counting seconds, minutes, hours, when Bond didn’t respond on the comm’s. In the end, Bond had blown up an airport on his way out of some godforsaken African country, the asset sitting slightly disoriented in the cargo plane, Bond had hijacked, and Q trying to get diplomatic protocols in order, to let the plane reach a European airport. M himself was in Q-branch when the final authorisation came through and Bond was cleared to land in Lisbon. The last thing Q remembered was giving orders for a retrieval team to be ready at the airport.

When he woke up, a stern looking M stood beside Q’s bed. Medical. Q groaned and tried to get up.

“Stop!”

Q swallowed, feeling dizzy, his mouth parched.

“You will take a break. Right now.” M’s voice broke no argument. “I’ve the ticket ready, you’ll be flying to night.”

“Fly- flying?” Panic apparent in Q’s expression , he once more tried to get up.

“No worries,” M sounded too pleased with himself. “Due to your condition, medical will sedate you, before we get you on that plane. Everything, including your cats,” absentmindedly M touched a very recent, still slightly bloody scratch on his left hand, “has been taken care of. It’s a private plane and you’ll have an escort waiting, when you land.”

Q was too drained to put a fight. Bond was safe somewhere in Portugal, that was all that mattered to him. He was asleep, even before the sedative had been put into the IV connected to his arm.

He woke up during the landing. Luckily, he was too befuddled to realise what was happening. The nurse, who had taken care of him during the flight, made sure he was able to walk out of the plane by himself. He would later blame his light-headedness for his belated realisation of who was waiting for him in the airport.

The looming figure was clad in an impeccable suit, his face tanned and blue eyes were watching Q staggering away towards the exit. The nurse made her excuses and turned back to the plane, while Q stood bewildered in front of Bond, who had a small suitcase in his hand and rather gentlemanly offered his arm for Q to take. Q stood in front of Bond and tried to process the situation, swaying slightly. With a small frown, he took the offered arm and they made it to a rented car outside the building. Nothing was said, mostly due to Q’s still rather dazed state of mind.

Broad highways became smaller, uneven roads, and they had to stop at one point to ask for entry into a rather large forest, Q surmised by all the trees suddenly surrounding them. A few minutes later, they turned around a corner and Q gasped. In front of them was a small fairytale castle surrounded by a well maintained park, placed in the middle of the forest, growing on the mountainside surrounding the place.

“Bussaco,” Bond said, parking the car.

“The hunting lodge of the last king of Portugal,” he added with a smirk.

“Hunting lodge?” Q said incredulously.

Bond took their luggage while Q trudged after him, admiring the interior. The walls were covered in huge paintings, blue and white on tiles, depicting battles and kings. Collecting the keys, Bond once more offered his arm and led Q to their suite. Because the suite it was, of course. Dining room, living room, dressing room. And a very large, very single bed. Q looked at the bed, then at Bond who stood beside him, smug smirk back on his face.

“Dinner tonight,” Bond said and left Q to change and take a long shower in the magnificent bathroom.

His mind came back online and he was wondering what he had gotten himself into. To be fair, what M had gotten him into. Was he supposed to be shagged back to health? And whose idea had this been in the first place? Was M even aware that Bond was still in Portugal? Moneypenny. Q had spilled the beans to her one night several months ago. They had been to a pub and after two pints, Q had been tipsy, Moneypenny sly, and his longing for a certain agent revealed. He had sworn her to secrecy the day after.

Whatever, Q was determined to make the best of it. The setting was perfect and he had been put on leave for the time being.

The shower had been refreshing. He dressed and met an approving glance from Bond when he came back into the living room.

They were placed on the terrace with a view over the gardens, and the food and wine were exquisite. Their waiter discrete, making sure their glasses were filled. The conversation between Bond and him was flowing effortlessly. Their usual banter after a mission interspersed with innuendo, further emphasised by small, casual touches, the quirking of an eyebrow, the tilt of a head.

When they had finished their desserts, Bond took Q for a short walk on the grounds. Other guests were keeping to themselves, using bushes and trees for stolen kisses and longing glances. Bond held Q tight, close to him, every now and then leaning in and letting his lips ghost Q’s ear, whispering observations and explanations. And Q leaned into the touch, let himself be guided around the place. Enjoying the calm presence of the agent beside him.

When they returned to the suite, Bond pulled him into a deep kiss. Q gave in with a satisfied sigh, his lips opening to Bond’s tongue. Q’s hands found their way under Bond’s shirt, touching muscles and scars. Old and new ones. His long fingers trailed along Bond’s spine, while Bond ravished his mouth, tugging up Q’s shirt as well. Deft hands trailed down Q’s back, grabbing his arse and pulling him close to Bond. Q let out a small sound, when his groin hit Bond’s apparent erection. Seeking friction, he pulled Bond even closer, rutting against Bond unconsciously.

“Clothes,” Bond said, breaking the kiss, only to start to undress Q, who squirmed under Bond’s admiring gaze.

“Bed,” Q murmured when they had finished undressing each other.

Both of them hard and leaking. Bond’s eyes were half lidded, his touch gentle, caressing. He was lying on his back, Q leaning over him, kissing and licking his way down a body, he had fantasised about for years now. Every scar was examined, every bruise kissed softly. The small trail of blond hair down between Bond’s legs, his cock erect, thick and long, his bullocks drawn tight. Q watched Bond watching him, when he licked over the head, pushing his tongue into the slit, eliciting a deep groan from Bond. Q could feel the tension in Bond’s body, trying not to push up into Q’s mouth. He took a deep breath and swallowed down the length, using his right hand to keep it steady. It had been too long since the last time he had done this for another man. Gagging and gasping, he pulled off. Bond’s eyes were dark, but concerned and Q gave a small smile, before he tried again. This time he found a rhythm, which in turn had Bond gasping. Q’s free hand found its way down between Bond’s legs. Teasing the perineum, having Bond breathing heavily, his feet and legs taut and quivering. Without interrupting his continued ministrations, Q’s fingers were teasing at Bond’s hole, the agent losing his fight to remain still. Grabbing the sheets beside him with both hands, he pushed up into Q’s mouth, who coughed out, before resuming his movements. Bond bid out a warning, which Q took as encouragement. A few thrusts later and Bond spilled into Q’s mouth with a cry. Q kept his lips tight around Bond’s cock until the last spasms faded, leaving him limp, with closed eyes. Slowly, Q released Bond, only to crawl up over Bond’s body, mouth closed and waiting for Bond to open his eyes.

It took a few moments, before Bond came back with a shuddering breath, looking at Q with a warm smile and soft eyes. Q on the other hand tilted his head and looked at Bond’s mouth intently. Blinking a few times, before understanding reached Bond’s eyes, his smile became wicked and he licked his lips, winking a Q. He bend down, touched Bond’s lips, and when his mouth opened, Q opened his mouth as well, letting Bond taste himself. The kiss became heated within seconds. And where Q’s attention had been solely on Bond’s pleasure, the tables were turned now. He could feel his own erection, straining for attention, leaking precome generously. Bond pulled him down on his chest, then turned both of them on their sides, facing each other, without breaking the kiss. Bond cradled Q’s head in his hand, small, needy sounds coming from Q as his other hand explored Q’s body. Calloused fingers brushing over sensitive skin, driving Q mad with need, and Bond felt a warmth inside him, which he hadn’t experienced for years.

All his yearning for some kind of stability, for a home, a place, a person to come back to, was welling up inside of him. Realising with utter clarity that it was possible, that this man beside him would be able to provide the much needed foundation for a relationship, which could transcend the challenges and complication of his work.

Q was pushing against Bond’s side, wanton and passionate, needy and trusting. Bond’s hand curled around Q’s cock, long, slim and slick with come. His fingers played the hot, hard flesh expertly and Q was whimpering, lips crushing against lips, hands holding tight, bodies pressing together, moving as one. Q came with a small sound, his body rigid, feet curled into the sheets, fingers scratching into Bond’s back.

Q was asleep before Bond had cleaned up their mess and had returned to the bed, tugging Q and himself under the blanket. Q instinctively sought to get close to Bond, curling up around him. And while Q’s light snoring filled the silence, Bond’s mind drifted towards a possible future with this extraordinary man, sleeping trustingly beside him.


End file.
